


How To Woo A Winter Demon

by cleo4u2, xantissa



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Crack, Creature Fic, Fantasy, First Meetings, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Gen, M/M, Meet-Cute, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Steve is still Cap, Stucky - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 05:38:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8956561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleo4u2/pseuds/cleo4u2, https://archiveofourown.org/users/xantissa/pseuds/xantissa
Summary: Steve slept in the ice for a long, long time. Longer than anyone thought possible. For over two thousand years before S.H.I.E.L.D. found and unfroze him. Yeah, the world was different and so were his team members. Team-creatures? Steve’s not sure what the politically-correct term is. There’s a lot of things he doesn’t know. What he does is that the demon living on the seventh sub-level is hot.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kajmere](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kajmere/gifts).



> Giftfic for kajmere: because I was asked for gifts and fluff and humor. Hopefully we delivered.
> 
> Beta'd by the one and only Glow Cloud, [NurseDarry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NurseDarry/profile). ALL HAIL.

Steve stared at the large white and brown stuffed puppy in his hands, unsure if going through with this was even a good idea. He had been awake for only a year and a half, and modern society was mostly a mystery to him. Waking up in the Supernatural Human and Interspecies Enforcement and Legislatory Division’s (S.H.I.E.L.D. for short) hospital being told that it was year 4264 had been nearly unbelievable. Surviving the crash of the Valkyrie had never been the plan at all. Finding out that he had slept in the ice for 2319 years? He still wasn’t sure what to do with that and the world was so…strange. At least, he thought, there simply couldn’t be any more surprises coming his way. Surely he would be able to get over anything he saw, right?

Well, he was wrong.

It turned out that, approximately around 3200, just after World War IV, a great storm had suffused the whole of the Earth and lasted for six days, six hours, and six minutes exactly. When the storm finally passed, humanity and the world were changed forever. Magic had come back to Earth, and that didn't just mean people were able to use it. A whole host of magical creatures and races were suddenly everywhere. Vampires, werewolves, witches, sylphs, skinwalkers, and a thousand more were sharing the Earth with humanity

His nurse was a pixie. His doctor a selkie. The world was weirder than Steve could have _ever_ imagined.

The first nine months Steve spent in a constant state of amazement, meeting witches and werewolves, and completely new types of animals that could teleport, or could bend time. With his enhanced body and strength, and his healing factor, Steve was suddenly barely different from every other creature and person out there. 

Well, there was one exception. No magic or other kind of supernatural power worked on him. A banshee’s scream was just a scream; a White Woman could call him, but couldn't bewitch him; a witch couldn’t put a spell on him. A troll could still throw him around like a rag doll; a werewolf could bite and shred him with its claws, but it couldn’t infect him. There were many theories as to why he was immune to these supernatural powers, but the most prevalent was that he predated magic entirely, and thus it had no hold on him.

Before he even realised what was happening, Steve had found himself leading a group of individuals calling themselves the Avengers. They protected Earth’s various countries from threats too powerful for ordinary law enforcement. There was Tony Stark, a technomancer, who could convince technology to work for him. It drove Fury mad that all Tony had to do was whisper a few sweet nothings, and all S.H.I.E.L.D.’s computers were displaying confidential info as fast as they could. Natasha Romanov, a basilisk who had the ability to turn any person that looked into her eyes to stone. Bruce Banner was was once human until an accident in the lab turned him into some kind of troll that called itself the Hulk. They had a sharpshooter, an elf, who preferred a bow to an actual gun, by the name of Clint Barton. Steve had seen some talented acrobats in his life, but for Clint the laws of physics were merely guidelines. Last, but never least, was an alien prince, Thor, because magic and supernatural creatures weren’t enough for this new world, there needed to be alien gods too. They worked for Nicholas J. Fury, a vampire, who was the director of S.H.I.E.L.D. He brought threats to their attention and smoothed the way with the different governments they often irritated by engaging with the enemy on their soil.

Eventually, they acquired a seventh member. He had worked for S.H.I.E.L.D. previously, not that anyone had bothered to introduce him to Steve. They met when their mission was heading south fast, death looming on the horizon.

Steve saw the man for the first time during a mission in Africa where the Avengers were tracking an international arms dealer who traded in magic artefacts. One moment they were tracking their target on foot, knowing he would be meeting his contact soon; the next, all hell broke loose. Only later did they learn that a small asteroid had fallen into the forest. It had brought with it an extremely virulent substance that mutated all nearby fauna. 

The Avengers were so focused on their target, they failed to notice there was less wildlife in the region than there should have been. Then dozens of slimy creatures exploded out of the Earth, ripping their target apart in seconds, along with his security team and his car. The Avengers themselves only avoided being annihilated thanks to their experience and quick reflexes. But that wasn’t enough to get them out of the mess, though. 

For every creature they killed, five more took its place. The things were dark and slimy, and had no discernable eyes, but plenty of clawed extremities to tear with. They looked like a cross between a huge-ass spider and a gnome, with a dash of Tony’s all-purpose robots thrown in. There were legs and appendages growing out from everywhere; there was no front or back to them. And like Tony’s robots, the appendages seemed to be all-purpose, although there weren't any that appeared to be for locomotion. All of them were equipped with cruel-looking spiked claws which dripped with ichor. The creatures’ skin was dark and slippery, exuding sticky, scentless gunk everywhere.

Natasha and Clint took to the trees, hoping to put some distance between them and the creatures, but the creatures didn't care about arrows or bullets, and climbed over their fallen comrades. The Avengers were fast losing ground, collecting wounds, and running out of ammunition as they repelled dozens and dozens of attackers. 

At one point, Steve watched Natasha fall from a tree, a slime creature on her back, arching its legs to drive the spikes adorning them into her neck. More swarmed beneath her. Catching his shield off a rebound, Steve planned to throw it and take out the monsters swarming him, give himself a tiny bit of breathing space. Seeing Natasha’s predicament, he changed the motion, throwing the shield to destroy the thing on her back. 

He was leaving himself open because his enhancements meant he could survive more damage, and she was his teammate and he always put them first, and because it was _Natasha_. A spike pierced his leg, the creatures barely reaching his waist. There were more though, and even as he was twisting away, reaching for the one stabbing him to throw it off him, he knew he couldn't avoid them all. At least two had a clear shot at his stomach, the one on his thigh tearing at the muscle, making it harder for him to stand, let alone run and fight.

Steve had the chance to think, “I will die by slimey pincushions,” and then the frost came.

Between one second and the next, the forest was covered in frost. The air became so cold it hurt to breathe. As if in slow motion, Steve saw movement from the corner of his eye. A sturdy, dark shape with a gleaming arm - a _silver_ arm - was moving through the forest so quickly it was practically a blur. Where it came close to the monsters, it lashed out and the creatures shattered like ice sculptures. 

Before Steve could blink, the stranger was at his side, long, dark hair shrouding his eyes and a black mask covering the bottom half of his face. Behind the hair, Steve could just make out dark goggles covering the eyes. It was a man, the shape unmistakable, dressed in black kevlar and leather, gloves covering both hands, even the incredibly articulated silver one.

The stranger slammed his silver arm into the monster closest to Steve, showering Steve with a mist of frozen blood droplets even as he whirled to kick and strike at every creature within his reach. 

For the briefest moment, Steve thought the man looked him straight in the eye.

Then Steve blinked and the man was gone. The ground was still frozen solid, the creatures frozen along with it, but the air was warm again. Proof the man hadn’t been a figment of Steve’s imagination, even if there was no other trace of him.

When they returned home, Steve learned that the last member of their team was the Winter Demon, a mysterious creature that had lived on the seventh sub-floor of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s headquarters for as long as it had existed. Nobody remembered how he had come to be there, or why. He was just there, behind a solid metal door. As a matter of fact, no one seemed to know how, or when, the floor _itself_ had come to be. The building had only been built with six floors underground, but there were definitely seven now. 

It wasn’t even the magically appearing seventh floor which mystified Steve. It was the fact that the elevator shaft reached it. There was even a button with S7 neatly labeled. How? Why? Magic didn’t make any sense, and trying to figure it out drove Steve a little bonkers.

People then told him plenty about the floor, now that he knew about it, and that the Winter Demon existed. Convenient that they’d just forgotten that there was an incredibly powerful asset at their disposal before now. Not that Steve blamed the Winter Demon. No, he’d helped them, saved Steve’s life. Steve should, at the very least, go down there and thank him. And a proper thank you, as his mother had taught him, meant a gift. 

And that was where Steve’s troubles started, and why he was now staring at a stuffed puppy of all things. What did one give a demon? That hadn’t exactly been in the lessons about manners his mother had taught him. Did demons like chocolates? Steve discovered even the research into what demons ate was…unpalatable at best.

In the end he came to the conclusion that the man - because the Catholic part of him would _not_ allow him to consort with demons - was wearing human-made clothes, which meant he must enjoy human comforts. So, the day after he was cleared for duty, Steve stopped at a small but busy shop selling handmade, organic soaps to buy the gift. There were several stunningly beautiful gift baskets in the windows, as Christmas was coming up. Steve almost passed the place entirely, but the scent of wild roses caught his attention when a patron opened the door and the sweet scent pulled him inside. When he left, he had a pretty basket full of handmade beautifully smelling organic soaps, bath salts, and incense.

It was maybe a little strange, but Steve wanted to make sure the Winter Demon knew his help was appreciated. Just a small thing, really. Steve never thought it could have turned out so badly, not that anyone told him any different as he carried the gift through all the security checks, down to the seventh sub-basement with its metal door covered in frost. Steve knocked and waited for somebody to answer for what felt like ages, all the while trying not think about how cold it was down there.

No one answered and, eventually, he left the basket in front of the door and returned to the warmer floors above. Except, the feeling of cold followed him up. First, it was the archivists on sublevel three and four who had to be dismissed early because their entire floor had frozen over. Next, it was the ground levels that had their temperatures drop to below freezing, and had their heater give out. Steve thought nothing of it until Fury, of all people, stormed into his office

“Captain Rogers,” Fury had growled, his white fangs gleaming starkly against his dark skin. “I don’t know how they did things back in your day, but in _this_ day and age, it is absolutely unacceptable to haze associates and colleagues!”

“Uh,” Steve had managed, glancing at Natasha who had come in on Fury’s heels. “Oh.” 

Today she wore black leather pants, a slim-cut leather jacket, and a brilliant red top. Her glasses had matching red lenses in them that made her hair more orange than red. She had the gift basket Steve left for the Winter Demon in her hands.

“Hazing?”

“Steve,” Natasha said sternly, glaring at him from behind her red glasses. “I expected better from you.”

“Yes, hazing!” Fury shouted. “What were you thinking!? I should suspend you, Rogers!”

“What?” Steve managed. “Do you not give gifts any more?”

“How could you be so mean to the Winter Demon?” Natasha demanded. “I know it might be hard for you, with your ancient religious upbringing, but I think you went too far.”

“Mean?” Steve repeated. “Natasha, it’s a _gift_. I got it to say thanks for saving our butts out there. I didn’t know gifts were… _bad_.”

Natasha looked at him with terrifying pity that translated even through her red lenses.

“Christ, Rogers,” Fury sighed heavily, “Didn’t we put you through sensitivity training?”

“Yes?” Steve offered, not about to admit he’d napped through most of it after an encounter with a Night Hag that had left him drowsy (though not unconscious, as everything else had been within a mile radius).

“Steve,” and oh he hated the pity in her voice which indicated he would never, ever learn about this new future, “salt is traditionally used to repel demons. And wild rose oil?”

Steve had a sinking suspicion what wild rose oil did.

“Also used to repel demons,” Natasha delivered without remorse.

Steve groaned, bending down to hit his head on the desk. 

“Better,” Fury snapped, “and I’m sending you back to sensitivity training.” He whirled, black coat whipping out to the side, muttering as he went, “Damned time-shifted artifacts of ancient cultures.”

“You locked him in his room for hours,” Natasha said, not satisfied like Fury with a little wrist slapping. “Which then resulted in the Winter Demon throwing a tantrum and all but freezing solid all the sublevels and the first two floors. All the S.H.I.E.L.D. fire-users are now down there trying to melt the ice blocking the corridors.”

Steve had groaned louder, but Natasha was already walking away, leaving him to feel like an idiot and an asshole, which wasn’t fair. 

How the hell was he supposed to know these things? And there were so many. Don’t give pixies silverware, or anything else made of iron. Don’t pass a lycanthrope on its left side. It was okay to look at a unicorn, but not to touch it. It was okay to touch a leprechaun, but not look at his gold. One could walk through a striga’s territory, but flying or jumping was absolutely forbidden. And never forget, it was safe to have sex with an incubus, or a succubus, but only on Fridays between four and seven pm. Not that anyone ever explained _why_ , they just expected him to know.

The list went on and on, without any rhyme or reason. Steve was starting to think Natasha was right. He didn’t belong and he wasn’t ever going to catch up.

Sighing, Steve stared at the stuffed dog, rubbing the soft fabric under his fingers. The gift basket hadn’t even been the worst of the gifts, just a foreshadowing of what was to come.

The next two days after the Winter Demon’s tantrum, nobody would come close to Steve outside the offices; not S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, not other Avengers, not even civilians. Steve didn’t really blame them. It had something to do with the small, very localised, and very persistent snow cloud hovering exactly a foot above him and dropping half a foot of snow in only fifteen minutes. 

Steve had actually been yelled at by people on the sidewalk because he, or rather his snow cloud, had buried their cars under a layer of snow. And sleeping? That hadn’t been a thing, not when standing still for more than five minutes left him up to his knees in a snow drift. If it got too high, Steve had uncomfortable flashbacks about going into the ice.

It wasn’t that Steve hadn’t tried to apologize or explain himself. The very next day after dropping off the gift basket, he had tried to go down to the seventh sub-level to apologise, but the door was closed to him again. He’d knocked, he’d knocked again. He might have tried the knob. It didn’t give. He might have tried to open the door, with lock picks, not that anyone would know. It hadn’t worked. Hadn’t even left a scratch behind.

Two days and no sleep, and Steve just wanted to apologise. The door remained locked, the Winter Demon nowhere in sight. Then, just when Steve was debating letting the snow take him another two thousand years into the future, it had stopped. There was no warning, no explanation, no sign of the Winter Demon. Though Steve had again gone down to the seventh sub-level, he’d had no luck and, not wanting another damn cloud, he’d left again.

Four days later, Steve finally saw the Winter Demon for the second time. Unsurprisingly, they were in trouble again. Natasha, Clint, and he had been transporting an extremely valuable witness needed to testify against a high-ranking general responsible for horrible war crimes against basilisks. Natasha’s people had been indiscriminately slaughtered for years, and thus this was a very personal mission for Steve’s teammate. Together, they’d spent hours planning the routes, the safehouses, the rescue, and how best to protect their witness to get her to the courthouse.

Unfortunately, while they could fight better than anybody, they couldn’t just stop to fight this time. Their witness was old and fragile. Keeping her in one place was as likely to kill her from fear and shock as the men the general worked with. Air support wasn’t an option, as the rescue was taking place on a mountain that doubled as the home of a tribe of strigas that wielded a kind of magic that not only rendered technology useless, but also dangerous. They loved the skies more than they looked to the ground, so our heroes had chosen a car old enough Steve recognized it, with wheels instead of the ‘normal’ hover apparatus, hoping the strigas would not take it as a challenge to their dominion over the mountain’s airspace. 

The rescue had gone as planned. The woman, in the back seat with Steve, was babbling in what Steve thought was Russian, as Natasha drove recklessly down the steep road leading from the mountain fortress they had breached. The striga ignored the car completely. The goons chasing them on the other hand, did not. 

Riding things Natasha called gruhls, they were gaining on them. The gruhls looked a bit like horses, only had way more teeth, and joints in places no horse should have. They were almost as fast as the car, their clawed feet crossing the woody terrain or asphalt road with equal ease. The goons themselves had automatic weapons and were not afraid to use them. The car’s windows were already shot out. 

Clint was leaning out one shattered window, shooting arrow after arrow at the pursuers, only to have half of his projectiles swatted away by the terrifying horses themselves, like cats playing with dangling toys. He was taking out some of them, but even riderless the horses chased them, slamming bodily into the car, attempting to push them off the road. They behaved like a pack of predators more than docile herbivores. 

Natasha was driving grimly, her green sunglasses pushed up to the top of her head. Both Steve and Clint were very careful not to catch her eye, though that wasn’t too much of a problem for Steve. He was hunched over their target, using his body and his shield to protect her from any gunfire, or glass shards, or clawed gruhl…whatever parts. 

Another not-horse slammed into the car, rocking it hard enough it skidded toward the cliff edge. Many more of those and they’d go over, not that Steve needed to say that. Everyone knew it.

As with the slimey pincushions, the Winter Demon saved them. Steve heard the gruhls screaming, then felt the cold. Sitting up, he peeked through the hole that had been the back window and he saw the road behind them turning into ice exactly one foot behind their car. The ice was slick and smooth, like glass, and was growing like a living thing, encasing the clawed feet of the gruhls every time they touched, making them scream eerily. 

Then the gunfire started, right above them.

Steve looked up and found the roof of the car was frosted over. The man - Steve still couldn’t think of him as a demon - was on their car, gunning down their pursuers. In no time, they managed to get free, this time without a single injury. With the Winter Demon making the road behind them impossible to travel, they had no fear of pursuers either.

However, by the time Steve felt he didn’t need to shield their witness anymore, the Winter Demon was gone again, without a word, or a chance for Steve to apologize, explain himself, or thank him again. He decided, then and there, to try another gift. It’s what his momma would have wanted, and he at least knew the Winter Demon had gotten the last one, shitty though it might have been.

This time, Steve went with something traditional. A bottle of wine, expensive and tasteful, if the elf at the store was to be believed. Instead of leaving it _at_ the Winter Demon’s door, he’d left it across the hall in case there was something that repelled demons in wine, too. He also left a card. The sensitivity class hadn’t said _anything_ about demons hating wine, not that it had been much help when he’d chased after that selkie to hand her her coat. How was _he_ supposed to know you never touched a selkie’s coat? Even when they had left it behind.

Like with the selkie, Steve’s good intentions backfired. The snowcloud, this time, lasted for only a day, but it was long enough. His landlord left him an angry note informing him he would have his rent bumped up to pay for the cleaning services. He was also visited by a host of ice fairies, each barely bigger than his thumb, asking if the snow cloud was a permanent feature and if he wouldn’t mind if they moved in with him if it was. 

Natasha laughed at him, Bruce looked at him with pity, and Fury glared. Tony, surprisingly, was the only helpful one.

“The wine was from the Sahara,” he said as he burst into Steve’s office.

“Sorry, what?” Steve asked, freezing in place.

He was really sick of asking that question.

“The Sahara,” Tony said in a tone of voice that said Steve should understand him. “The desert? A _giant_ desert? Home to Desert Demons? No? Steve!” Tony waved his hands in the air as if that would somehow communicate his point. “Winter and Desert Demons _do not_ get along! It’s like…It’s like…something ancient…”

Steve rolled his eyes and sighed.

Tony snapped his fingers.

“Like rooting for the opposing baseball team at the World Series.”

Opening his mouth, Steve closed it again, and leaned forward so his head hit his desk.

Laughing, Tony patted him on top of the head.

“At least you didn’t lock him in his room like a naughty kid this time?” he offered soothingly, “You’ll figure it out.”

“Sure,” Steve muttered, “when Hell freezes over.”

Tony hopped off Steve’s desk and headed toward the door calling, “Already happened,” over his shoulder.

Steve hit his head on the desk again.

Once again, when he went down to apologize, Once again, Steve was barred from the Winter Demon’s door. He wondered if anyone was allowed through, or if it was just him. When he asked Natasha, she just gave him a look and told him to leave the demon alone. Which didn’t make sense. He had to apologize, explain his mistakes and tell the demon he was appreciated. It was only the polite thing to do, and his mother would come back from the grave to haunt him if he didn’t.

Unfortunately, the next gift hadn’t gone over much better.

Before Steve could think of what to try, they’d been called out on a mission to what once had been Canada. Now the home of frost giants and other frozen denizens, it had plenty of hidden crannies and troves where the creatures had stashed their valuables. S.H.I.E.L.D. got wind of a powerful artifact they’d stolen and sent Steve to get it. 

It was supposed to be an easy solo mission: find the cave, find the artifact, come home. Which was probably why Steve was now drowning. The cave was easy to find with the intel they’d received. He’d climbed down the wall of a glacier, obtained the artifact, and the entire cave floor had cracked straight through below him. It had just been ice, not a floor, atop a subterranean, lake with water so cold it wouldn’t even freeze, just thick slush. And before he could escape, the ice had collapsed beneath him, and he’d fallen through.

It was the Valkyrie all over again. The water was so cold, so damned cold, his muscles refused to respond. They were heavy, sluggish, and his lungs were seizing up, making it impossible to fight the need to inhale. Steve knew he would only get a lungful of water, but it was too hard to think. He didn’t want to die, not again, not like this. Dying sucked. _Drowning_ specifically sucked, and he didn't know if this water would be cold enough to freeze him afterward. He could just die this time, or could be lost down here for another couple thousand years.

More than _anything_ , Steve didn’t want to learn a new millennium all fucking over again.

Desperate, his eyes blurring, he tried to get his limbs to respond and _swim_. He had to _breathe_ , had to take a breath, but if he did, it would be over. Over and… Something moved in the dark, but darker than the water. Which was just his luck; now something was going to eat him before he drowned, or froze, or whatever. 

Then the shape resolved into a hand, an arm, reaching towards him in the cold water.

Grasping onto it, Steve was swiftly hauled from the freezing mountain lake into the freezing air, then out of the ice. When he gasped his first breath at the surface of the lake, he realised his saviour had been the Winter Demon. Though he was half-drowned and half-frozen, Steve managed to get his first look at him. This time, the demon wasn’t wearing goggles, or the mask. His face was surprisingly human, not the image of a demon Steve had been taught as a child. 

The demon had a sharply defined jaw, narrow nose, high cheekbones, and long, dark eyelashes. His lips were wide and soft, parted. His other arm churned the water of the mountain lake, holding them both afloat. His long hair was plastered to his forehead, the small strands already curling up and little ice crystals were forming on his skin. The demon didn't appear cold, didn’t shiver or go blue the way Steve was, teeth chattering as violent shivers racked his frame. 

Steve’s final thought before he passed out was that this demon was the most beautiful man he’d ever seen in his life. 

Steve woke up naked.

Steve woke up naked and warm.

Steve woke up naked, warm, and alone.

The last part was quite disappointing, especially when he stopped being alone when Natasha rushed into the cave. Someone had lit a fire, laid him out next to it, and wrapped him in something warm. A fur, he realized as he sat up, startled by Natasha barging in.

“Steve?” she asked.

“Natasha,” he said, since they were apparently saying each other’s first names.

“I… You sent a distress signal?”

“No,” Steve said, “I tried to drown. Someone else sent the signal.”

“Someone?” she asked, scanning the cave, looking for the someone and any sign of a trap. and then, “Tried?”

“Yes,” Steve said slowly, “the same someone who appears to have stolen my clothes, and obviously I didn’t succeed, as I’m not still breathing water.”

Natasha’s head snapped back in his direction and she snorted.

“Seriously?”

“No,” Steve said dryly, “I’m lying to you so I have an excuse to lie naked under this fur.”

Laughing, Natasha covered her mouth.

“All right, I’ll find you some clothes and we can get you out of here. Did you finish your mission?”

Steve huffed.

“Oh, I’m fine, Nat. Just almost drowning and ending up naked in a cave in the middle of fucking nowhere Not-Canada.”

“Not Canada?” Natasha repeated.

Steve dropped onto his back and groaned, “Just find me some pants.”

In the end, Steve had to troop out to the jet in just the fur, his suit nowhere in sight. The Winter Demon had returned it to S.H.I.E.L.D., dry and warm, hanging up on the back of his door with the artifact still in its pouch. Which would have been really nice, if Steve hadn’t had to spend hours naked.

Nevertheless, he was alive. He was alive and he was _grateful_ because he was also still in the same millennium. He had to find a way to thank the Winter Demon, even if it meant another snow cloud. 

The research he had done said demons drank blood, which was gross, but to each their own. When he stumbled across blood-flavored lollipops in the sweet store, however, he did buy an entire jar. These he left outside the Winter Demon’s door, not even bothering to knock this time. There didn’t seem to be much of a point when the man never answered anyway.

An hour later, the temperature in his office dropped to freezing, and the door banged open. Striding through it, came the Winter Demon, candy in hand. He was as gorgeous as Steve remembered, arm shining in the light, grey eyes brilliant, if hard and…angry.

Fuck.

The jar of candy slammed down onto his desk.

“The hell is this?” the Winter Demon demanded, voice low and husky and doing wicked things to Steve’s insides.

“Candy?” Steve asked, hopeful.

Ripping off the lid, the Winter Demon thrust one lollipop at Steve.

“ _You_ want one?”

Steve made a face, leaning away from the coppery-scented treat.

“No thank you,” he said politely.

The Winter Demon threw the sweet across Steve’s office.

“Then why the hell do you think I want it, huh?” he demanded. “What the hell do you think I am? Some kind of vampire? We’re not the same!”

“S-sorry,” Steve stammered, his teeth chattering from how cold his office was steadily growing.

“Sorry?!” the Winter Demon growled. “Sorry! What’s your problem? You trap me in my room, you send me gifts of my enemies’ creation, and now you call me a vampire? What did I do to you? All I’ve ever done is save your sorry life!”

The ice was growing on Steve’s clothes, on his fingers, his breath pluming into the air. He was shivering violently, could see the ice gathering on his lashes. If drowning in the cave had been the Valkyrie all over again, this was a slow-motion horror film. He was freezing, his office coated in a thick layer of rime, and it was creeping over him as well. The Winter Demon was going to freeze him solid, maybe not for long, but it was happening.

Happening all over again.

“Please,” Steve gasped, “Stop. Not again.”

The Winter Demon went still, staring at him with unfathomable brilliant eyes. And then he was gone. A blink and nothing, the ice taken with him, so Steve finally felt he could breathe. His heart was pounding in his chest, but the room was warm. Steve wasn’t, he was still shivering with chill, but the fur was still in the bottom drawer of his desk and he wrapped it around himself.

That was it, he had decided. No more gifts. He didn’t understand demons, he didn’t understand this millennium, and he was done trying. No more helping women with their coats, or offering anyone gifts. He’d do his job, go home, read, sleep, rinse and repeat. Maybe he’d dream of a gorgeous demon who could put him back into the ice, but that would just be between him and his right hand.

And it would have been, if the Winter Demon hadn’t shown up to the briefing on Friday. He wasn’t the only addition; a succubus from Intelligence assigned to assist in their cover operation was there as well. Steve couldn’t focus at all, not with those eyes, that jaw, those thighs in the same room with him. 

Not that the Winter Demon was paying him any attention. He had eyes only for the succubus, though at least not friendly ones. For whatever reason, he wouldn’t stop glaring at her. While Natasha briefed them, went over the mission - in which Steve and the Winter Demon were just back-up if something went wrong - he tried to bore holes through the woman with his eyes. 

His gorgeous, grey eyes with little flecks of blue in them.

“Steve,” Natasha said, loud enough that it meant she’d said it at least once before.

“Huh?” Steve said, head snapping to her.

If the Winter Demon was glaring, his look paled next to the look Natasha sent Steve through her blue glasses.

“I asked you if you needed Illyria to walk you through the floor plan.”

Leaning forward, the succubus smiled at Steve with half-lidded eyes.

“I’d be happy to,” she purred and looked down, pointedly, at her watch. She caught Steve’s eye again and smiled, long and slow and wicked.

“I,” Steve managed, realizing it was nearly four o’clock _and_ a Friday.

“No need,” the Winter Demon stated in his dark, low voice. “I have it memorized and I can get us both wherever we need to be in an instant.”

Natasha gave the Winter Demon a long look.

“Is Fury paying you for this?”

White teeth gleamed as the Winter Demon smiled threateningly at Natasha.

“It’s on the house.”

“Uh huh,” she said slowly, her eyes narrowing behind her glasses. Then she turned to Steve, all smiles and teeth, and the _fuck_ had he done now? “So, Steve, change of plans. You’re going undercover with Illyria.”

“I’m doing what with the who now?” Steve blurted, not smiling anymore.

The Winter Demon _growled_.

“I,” Steve shivered and shook himself, not willing to look a fool in front of so many people, “am terrible at undercover work. I veto this decision with prejudice.”

“Okay,” Natasha said easily.

“What?” Steve managed, but Natasha was already moving on. Glancing at Illyria, Steve saw her pout and throw him a wink. Then the Winter Demon was leaning forward, blocking his view of her pretty lips, and that was really just fine because now he had a _great_ view of the Winter Demon’s cheek bones. Sharp enough to cut metal.

Steve sighed, leaning his head on his hand. Yes he was staring, but who could blame him with a view like that? 

When the briefing ended, Steve was almost disappointed. The Winter Demon stood and stretched, and Steve had no reason to stay. None of them did. 

Holding in another sigh, Steve headed for the door, pausing as he caught movement from the corner of his eye. Turning his head, he found only the back of the Winter Demon, but a quick glance found both Natasha and Clint staring at something on the other side of him. Chancing a peek around that broad, muscular back, he found Illyria with her head held high, glaring as hard at the Winter Demon as he had been since he’d arrived. They weren’t speaking, but it was a standoff of some sort.

“He trapped you in your room, James,” Illyria said sharply.

The Winter Demon, James apparently, rumbled out a low, dangerous growl that made other people in the room flinch. The succubus bared her fangs, her golden-green eyes flashing, turned on her pointed heel, and strode away, her lush hips swaying with each step. WIthout a word, the Winter Demon followed, but not before Steve caught a glimpse of his profile and the smug smirk on his lips. 

“Okay, what the hell?” Steve said slowly.

Natasha laughed, patted Steve on the shoulder, and followed James out of the conference room.

“Clint,” Steve started, but the elf held up a hand.

“Man, never get between demons and their desires,” he said and swept from the room.

Steve stared at the doorway, the empty conference room, and asked aloud, “What the hell does that mean?”

No matter how hard Steve thought about it that night, he couldn’t figure out what everyone else saw that he didn’t. He did come to one conclusion, though: he wasn’t going to back down from making amends without a fight. Not with someone as gorgeous as the Winter Demon, when they’d worked together so many times.

Three times, but who was counting?

And that was how he ended up standing at the door to the seventh floor sub-basement, a stuffed puppy in his hands. Taking a deep breath, he knocked, but hadn't actually expected the door to swing open. Behind it lay a sprawling living room, leather couches, a T.V. bigger than any Steve had any seen, and what looked like the latest V.R. chair. Then the Winter Demon was there, staring at him, then at the stuffed toy in his hands.

Steve thrust the animal forward.

“Please tell me Winter Demons don’t hate puppies, or are otherwise offended by them?” he pleaded. “If you are,” he added as fast as he could, “I’m really sorry. I’m trying, but this gift-giving thing is really hard to do these days.”

“These days,” the Winter Demon repeated, taking the stuffed toy and looking down at it dubiously.

Steve bobbed his head.

“Yeah, you know,” he pushed a hand through his hair, “before it was just bring a pie, or sweets, or whatever, and now it’s don’t do this, or that, or perform this or that on a Saturday in your grandfather’s pants, or with a chicken.”

The Winter Demon looked up at him and raised one perfect eyebrow.

Blushing, Steve smiled sheepishly.

“Sorry, kind of just blurting out thoughts here.”

“I can tell,” the Winter Demon said slowly, “What am I supposed to do with this?”

Throwing up his hands, Steve shrugged.

“Honestly? Haven’t a clue. Give it a cuddle? I just figured…puppies. Everyone likes puppies. I can’t go wrong with puppies.”

“And you thought salt and rose water was a good idea?”

Steve blushed harder.

“I didn’t know about the whole,” he waved his hand, “demon-repelling thing.”

“Didn’t know,” the Winter Demon repeated skeptically.

“Well,” Steve drawled, “Demons were really only metaphorical back in my day.”

“In your day?” the Winter Demon repeated. “I am over two thousand years old, you’ve brought me a stuffed puppy, and you’re telling me demons didn’t exist a few _decades_ ago?”

Steve smiled, putting his best performance wide grin on his face.

“Born in 1918,” he quipped, “No demons then, no matter what my priest used to say. Well, if you discount the kind that slept in a bottle.”

“Jinn?” the Winter Demon asked, looking curiously from the stuffed animal to Steve and back.

“No,” Steve laughed, “I meant alcoholism. Look, it, um, it doesn’t matter. I was just trying to get you a gift, something you’d like, to say thanks. For saving our butts. My butt. I appreciate it. You know, as I’m attached to the thing.”

The Winter Demon looked back at him, his grey eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Material gifts are not how you gain a Winter Demon’s favor.”

“How does one gain your favor then?” Steve asked, staring at the soft, impossibly inviting lips.

“By offering virgin sacrifices, of course.”

Steve stared.

Oh.

 _Oh_.

Steve took a hasty step backward.

“Please don’t kill me.”

The Winter Demon rolled his eyes.

“Not that kind of sacrifice,” he murmured, reaching for one of Steve’s belt loops and tugging him closer again.

This time, the thought popped out of his mouth.

“Oh.”

“That’s not a no,” the Winter Demon pointed out.

“No, no it’s not,” Steve confirmed, “but, ah, I only got the one sacrifice to give.”

The Winter Demon smiled again, drawing Steve even closer and wrapping an arm around his waist.

“Then we will have to take measures to ensure it is forever a gift granted only to me.”

“Um,” Steve managed, “No clue what you mean.”

The Winter Demon laughed, leaning in, his voice a low purr.

“I’ll show you,” he promised, kissing Steve long and slow, and Steve might have thought, before the Winter Demon pulled him past the frost-coated steel door, that the future really wasn't that bad.

 

The End


End file.
